


Spilled Milk

by thecommodore_squid (orphan_account)



Series: A Historical Relic and a History Professor Walk into a Bar- [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst, Bucky and Clint's Bromance Will Outlive Us All, Bucky has issues, Clint Has Issues, Deaf Clint Barton, Fluff, Meet-Cute (Platonic), Milk and Eggs, Modern Bucky, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 05:30:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6066946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thecommodore_squid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What d’you what?” Bucky snapped hoarsely with a dignified sniffle.</p><p>The man blinked very slowly. “Wanna pet my dog?”</p><p>AKA<br/>History Professor, Bucky Barnes, meets Useless Avenger, Clint Barton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spilled Milk

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky and Clint are platonic soulmates and Steve Rogers Versus the Classics did not get to feature that beauty enough.
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Comments and kudos are my livelihood.
> 
> I had way too much fun writing this so I hope you guys like reading it.

Bucky tried to secure his grip on his groceries as he waddled upstairs.

 

They were slipping from his grasp, he could tell. And there were still two fucking flights of stairs to go until he reached his floor.

 

Bucky paused, set the bags down, and flexed his fingers. He took a deep breath, looking dully at the red indents that the plastic bags had made on his skin. Which reminded him. He needed to get some reusable bags. They’d be bigger and much easier on his hand.

 

Bucky rubbed his hand against his chest to get some of the feeling back into it. Then, he leaned down and gathered the bags again, braving the last two flights of stairs with only moderate frustration.

 

He reached his door and absently reached for his keys. But of course, he couldn’t get to his keys because he only had one fucking useless arm.

 

“Right,” Bucky muttered. He had to set the plastic bags down again.

 

As Bucky moved to do just that, one of the plastic handles snapped. His carton of milk and carton of eggs crashed to the floor as if in slow motion, and Bucky stared in numb silence as the cracked egg yolk and spilled milk seeped into the carpet.

 

“Fuck,” Bucky whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. He dropped the rest of his bags and pressed a shaking hand to his eye. He let his forehead thunk onto the surface of his front door. “Fucking fuck.”

 

Bucky wiped furiously at a stray tear, gritting his teeth. He’d been doing so fucking well. He’d gotten his job back. He’d gotten an apartment close to the university. He’d been able to look at the subway without wanting to physically throw up (although he hadn’t been able to even entertain the idea of riding it). He’d gone out to get fucking groceries, goddammit. “I am literally crying over spilled milk,” Bucky growled angrily, and, oh great, he was talking to himself now.

 

“Bro,” a voice said from above. Bucky looked up sharply and saw a man lounging on the ceiling beams, eating a slice of pizza. His hair was atrociously messy, his nose was broken, he had two black eyes, and he was wearing all purple. Bucky resigned himself to the fact that he was probably going to be murdered by this guy.

 

“What d’you what?” Bucky snapped hoarsely with a dignified sniffle.

 

The man blinked very slowly. “Wanna pet my dog?”

 

“What?”

 

“He’s very cute,” the man explained. “He only has one eye, but that’s okay because I see really well. It’s kinda my thing. Like, I may be deaf as fuck, but I can see like a superhero. Not literally. That’d be sick, though.”

 

Bucky stared at him. “Are you fucking high?”

 

“High up,” the man said, smirking. “Anyway, my dog’s name is Lucky. He’s great. But my best friend, Nat, is kind of afraid of dogs, and she was just over yesterday, so he’s feeling very neglected.”

 

Bucky was so confused.

 

“Are you a dog person?”

 

“I... yeah?”

 

“Sick, bro. I’m Clint.”

 

“I’m Bucky.”

 

“You just moved in, right? The Russian asshat who owns this place was talking about you and your dreamy eyes,” Clint said, shifting so that he was hanging upside-down on the ceiling beam like some kind of fucking acrobat, cocking his head and batting his eyes.

 

“Um.”

 

“Fuck, I’d have to agree with the bastard. Those eyes are _enchanting_.”

 

Bucky frowned. “Are you... flirting with me?”

 

Clint rolled his eyes. “We’ll see where the night takes us, hotshot. Are you going to invite me into your apartment?”

 

“I- I thought-“

 

“Yeah, I know. I wanna see your apartment first. Lucky later.”

 

Bucky swallowed heavily and grabbed his keys, finally unlocking the door. What the fuck was he even doing? This guy was a complete stranger and was probably going to murder him.

 

Clint dropped down from the ceiling beams and picked up a few of Bucky’s groceries. “Leave the milk and eggs for the asshole landlord to clean up. Anyway, I think I have an extra carton or something in my apartment.”

 

Bucky numbly picked up the rest of the bags, walked into his kitchen, and started putting things away. Clint followed suit, asking things like, “Bro, where do your snacks go?”

 

Bucky sat down on one of the stools by his counter and let his forehead drop onto the surface.

 

“Long day?” Clint asked.

 

Bucky picked his head up and glared at him.

 

“Okay, that’s cool, bro. Me too. I got beat up by a bunch of mercenaries but then a cool mercenary rescued me. But don’t tell him I think he’s cool,” Clint said, hopping up to sit on the counter, swinging his legs. “The things that would do to his ego.”

 

“Are you some kind of vigilante?” Bucky asked.

 

“No, I’m totally government-sanctioned. Most things I do are hella legal.”

 

“Most things?” Bucky echoed.

 

Clint just winked.

 

“I went to the grocery store,” Bucky finally admitted with the same levity had he been talking about getting the death penalty.

 

For his part, Clint just nodded sympathetically, pretending to understand. “Sucks.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Wanna pet my dog?”

 

Bucky sighed. At least if Clint killed him, he’d probably be a bro about it. “Yes, please.”

 

“Sweet.” Clint bounded to his feet. “I live on the floor above yours.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Sometimes I get visited by shady people.”

 

Bucky frowned. “That scary guy with the eye patch?”

 

“Uncle Nicky!” Clint shouted warmly.

 

“How about the teenager who’s always bruised but fashionable about it?”

 

“Katie-Kate? Aw, bro, no. Don’t worry about her. She’s, like, twelve.”

 

“And the terrifying red-head?”

 

“That’s Nat, my BFFL five-evah.”

 

Bucky nodded. “Figures. And you know you literally just said, ‘Best friends for life five-evah’?”

 

“Smartass. What are you, a fucking professor?” Clint asked sarcastically.

 

“Actually, yeah.”

 

“Oh, bro, I’m like. Psychic.” Clint grabbed Bucky’s shoulder (thankfully the one that was still attached to an entire arm) and looked into his eyes. “This is creepy. I think we have, like, a soulmate-level connection.”

 

“You’re weird,” Bucky said.

 

“You’re romantic.” Clint released him and continued away. “Come, young padawan, Lucky awaits.”

 

“That’s what she said.”

 

Clint laughed. “That didn’t make sense.”

 

“You mom didn’t make sense.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

Clint swung the door open to his apartment, and a very excited dog immediately barreled into his chest. Clint staggered a step backwards, bumping into Bucky, who tried not to tense up. The dog, Lucky, licked at Clint’s face as Clint laughed and took a step away from Bucky. Lucky turned his attention to Bucky and happily circled around his feet.

 

“Bucky. Meet Lucky,” Clint said, and his face cleared as if he’d come to a great realization. “Oh my god. Dude. Bucky rhymes with Lucky. We need to get married right the fuck now.”

 

Bucky laughed softly and crouched down so that he could thoroughly pet Lucky. “Aw, aren’t you just a little cutie-baby. I know, honey. I know, I’m very excited to see you too,” Bucky cooed, cringing away delightedly when Lucky slobbered on his face.

 

“Lucky, don’t french the hot professor,” Clint chastised absently.

 

Bucky flushed. He hadn’t thought of himself as attractive since before the Battle of New York.

 

Clint shuffled into his apartment and flopped inelegantly onto a purple couch. He groaned. “I fuckin’ hate mercenaries.”

 

“I don’t know a lot of people who adore them,” Bucky said wryly.

 

“What?” Clint asked, his head popping up. “Didn’t catch that, sorry.”

 

Bucky blinked. Was this guy... literally deaf? He hadn’t just been exaggerating? “Oh... I just- I don’t know a lot of people who love mercenaries.”

 

“Spider man,” Clint said without blinking. “Spider man is in love with a mercenary.”

 

Bucky frowned. “How the fuck would you know?”

 

“I’ve got inside information. I’m real resourceful, and people underestimate me and forget I’m here when they talk,” Clint informed Bucky, grinning without feeling.

 

“Ah,” Bucky said because he didn’t know else to say. Because he didn’t know this guy, and he couldn’t say, _Ah, so like being invisible in the most public places_ , with a bitter glance towards where his goddamn fucking left arm used to be.

 

Bucky turned his attention back to Lucky, hoping to push that unwelcome train of thought out of his head. Clint eventually heaved to his feet, wandered into his kitchen, and grabbed a bag of frozen peas to put over his face as he intermittently groaned.

 

After Bucky felt his pulse ease into something more normal and felt his hands become more steady, he took a deep breath and gave Lucky one final pet before lurching to his feet. “Thanks for letting me pet your dog,” he said, and Clint offered a noncommittal grunt, clearly half-asleep. “I’ll see you around.”

 

Bucky walked back to his apartment and had to clean up the fucking spilled milk and eggs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Becca emerged from where she was rummaging in Bucky’s refrigerator. “Okay. What kind of breakfast can we have without eggs?”

 

Bucky shrugged. “I mean, there’s bagels, cereal, fruit, pancakes-“

 

Becca cut him off with a glare. “Bro. My dude. Where’s your eggs?”

 

Bucky shrugged, kicking at the kitchen island. “I dropped them on the way back from the grocery store.”

 

Becca’s face crumpled into pity, and Bucky tried not to feel a flare of anger. “Oh. You want me to go out and get some for you?”

 

“I’m fine,” Bucky said stiffly.

 

“Of course.”

 

Bucky poured himself another cup of coffee and sighed. “A weird thing happened after that, though.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“This dude just... Well, you have to understand. Homedog was literally hanging from the ceiling beams like some circus attraction.”

 

“You did not just say ‘homedog,’” Becca deadpanned.

 

Bucky ignored her. “And he put away my groceries and made me go into his apartment to pet his dog.”

 

“That is really fucking weird. Did it help?”

 

Bucky hesitated. “I mean, yeah. I was kind of on the verge of a full-blown freak-out before he showed up.”

 

“So maybe that was the whole point.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

Becca pulled out the box of Life cereal that Bucky always kept in the pantry in case she showed up. “Did you catch ‘homedog’s’ name?” she asked teasingly, although her eyes were serious.

 

“Clint.”

 

“That’s an old man name,” Becca pointed out needlessly.

 

“I know.”

 

“It’s almost as lame as being named... I dunno... ‘ _Steve_.’”

 

Bucky huffed a laugh. “I doubt Clint got to choose his name.”

 

Becca hummed. “Well. Anyway, how are your classes going?”

 

“Fine,” Bucky said, not mentioning the fucking _stares_ at the empty space on his left side that made him feel like his skin was on inside out. He paused, feeling embarrassed for no reason. “I actually have an idea for a new course to teach. I’ve been mulling it over for a while, but I don’t know how to present it.”

 

Becca stared at the refrigerator in frustration. “No milk?”

 

“Milk was collateral along with the eggs.”

 

Becca groaned, sitting at the counter with her bowl of unsatisfyingly dry cereal. “Continue. What’s the course about?”

 

Bucky took a sip of his coffee. “I want to explore the culture of the twentieth century through literature and cinema.”

 

“So like a glorified book club and a glorified movie marathon,” Becca said, frowning through a crunch on her cereal.

 

Bucky faltered. “Yeah, that’s pretty much exactly what it is.”

 

“Sweet. Glad we understand each other, little bro.”

 

Bucky scowled. “Oh my god, you’re literally six minutes older than me.”

 

“Six minutes more of wisdom,” Becca said with exaggerated pompousness.

 

“Six minutes of crying in your own shit.”

 

“It was a regal six minutes, Bucky.”

 

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh a little bit. It was an old argument, worn warm and old as they aged. Familiar. They sat in silence for a few minutes. “How’s Naomi?”

 

Becca’s expression softened. “She’s great. She loves her preschool teacher. Mark says the teacher is an old witch lady, but Naomi is completely in love with her, so.”

 

“Can I visit this weekend?” Bucky asked. “I miss her.”

 

Becca studied him for a moment. “She hasn’t seen you since... since the Battle of New York.” _Since you lost your fucking arm_.

 

Bucky squared his shoulders. “I can handle the questions. It’s not a big deal.”

 

It was a huge deal, but Becca didn’t press. “Okay. I’ll let her and Mark know.”

 

“Cool.”

 

Becca pushed her half-finished bowl of cereal away and scooted closer to Bucky so that she could wrap an arm around his shoulders. Bucky dropped his head to her shoulder and let his eyes shut with a sigh. “Cool,” he agreed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Naomi frowned. “What happened to your arm?” she asked. She looked up to Bucky’s face with a stern frown and gravely pressed, “Did you get a boo-boo?”

 

Bucky almost laughed, feeling slightly hysterical. Becca and Mark were in the other room, thankfully leaving Bucky alone for this. He sat on the floor and beckoned to his niece, and she trotted over to sit down on his lap without hesitation. “I did,” Bucky said. “I got hurt really bad.”

 

Naomi’s face darkened. “Was it bad guys?”

 

“Remember the aliens?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Naomi said, like aliens were completely normal. Which, Bucky supposed, they were now.

 

“They vaporized my arm.”

 

“That’s mean,” Naomi pointed out. “Treat others the way you want to be treated,” she recited.

 

Bucky couldn’t hold back a smile now. “You are very right, missy.”

 

“Don’t call me missy.” Naomi clambered off Bucky’s lap and put her hands on her hips. “Want to play with my cars with me?”

 

Bucky relaxed muscles he hadn’t known he’d been tensing. “Always.”

 

“Great. I’m the blue fast one. And you’re the big clunky slow truck because you’re _old_.”

 

Bucky had never been happier to take the shitty car.

 

* * *

 

 

When Bucky stumbled into the apartment building, Clint was mostly passed out, slumped over the mailboxes.

 

Before Bucky could stop himself, he had walked over and poked Clint’s cheek.

 

Clint groaned.

 

Bucky pushed on his shoulder so that he’d be able to see Clint’s face. He was covered in half-dried blood, both of his eyes swollen shut, his lips busted, his neck ringed with angry bruises. And that was just his head.

 

“Ah, fuck,” Bucky said.

 

He grabbed Clint as securely as he could and hauled him up the stairs and into his apartment with massive difficulty.

 

He laid Clint out on his shitty couch and tried to catalogue the injuries.

 

Bucky wasn’t a fucking doctor. What the fuck.

 

Bucky panicked and called the only person in the medical profession he trusted. His physical therapist.

 

“Dr. Temple?” Bucky said as soon as she picked up.

 

“Professor Barnes?”

 

Bucky stared at Clint’s body and wondered what he was even going to ask. “I have an unconscious man on my couch and I don’t know what to do.”

 

There was a pause. “I wish that sounded more out of the ordinary for me than it is,” Dr. Temple sighed. “You live in Bed-Stuy now, right? I’ll be over there as soon as I can.”

 

“Thank you so much,” Bucky breathed, not dwelling on Dr. Temple’s lack of a reaction. She hung up.

 

Bucky busied himself with trying to get Clint to drink a glass of water. But he just kept mumbling indistinctly and fumbling with his fingers, signing something that Bucky couldn’t understand.

 

Bucky really needed to learn ASL.

 

Dr. Temple faithfully showed up and didn’t bat an eye at the unconscious man covered in blood on Bucky’s couch. She just crouched down and got to work.

 

“Okaaayyyy,” she said after a while. “Your friend is a huge disaster,” she informed Bucky. “He’s broken his nose, bruised his trachea, broken his wrist, fractured both of his ankles, and fucked up on of the muscles in his thigh. I suspect some sort of laceration, but it’s hard to tell.”

 

“I wonder what he did,” Bucky said, trying to ignore all the throbbings of sympathy pain. “He kind of joked around that he’s a vigilante but.”

 

“But this looks like he actually is a vigilante,” Dr. Temple finished. “I know a few vigilantes. They’re good people. They have really overblown senses of justice.”

 

Bucky lifted a shoulder. “I don’t really know this guy. I just pet his dog once. Don’t know about the justice thing, but he’s definitely something.”

 

“He needs to go to the hospital,” Dr. Temple said.

 

Bucky crouched down next to her and shook Clint’s shoulder. “Hey. Dude. We need to take you to the hospital.”

 

“No hospitals. ’M fine,” Clint mumbled before passing out again.

 

Dr. Temple rolled her eyes. “Honestly, what is it with vigilantes and their No-Hospitals rule?” She got to her feet. “I’m glad I brought equipment.”

 

Four hours of extremely stressful and dizzying work, Clint was mostly put together. His thigh was a whole different thing to worry about, and Dr. Temple insisted that she was not qualified to poke around in there. So, she pulled crutches out of nowhere and said, “Take him to the hospital when you can.”

 

“Thank you, Dr. Temple. How much do I owe you?”

 

Dr. Temple waved a hand. “On the house. And call me Claire, please.”

 

Bucky nodded, knowing that he was going to be tipping her ridiculous amounts until he felt like he covered the cost of Clint’s injuries. “Thank you, Claire.”

 

Claire smiled, and Bucky distantly noticed how beautiful she was, although it was a detached thought. “See you on Friday, James.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Clint woke up, he slurred, “What the fuck,” and tried to get to his feet.

 

“Nope,” Bucky said.

 

“ _What the fuck_.”

 

“I don’t know either, man. We tried to fix as much as we could, but you still definitely need to go to the hospital.”

 

“I fuckin’ hate hospitals,” Clint grumbled. He reached into the pouch of his hoodie and pulled out a StarkPhone with a horrendously shattered screen. “Call Iron Maiden,” Clint said after clicking the Jarvis button.

 

Clint put the phone to his ear and winced when someone on the other end started talking. “My friend says I need to go to the hospital,” Clint said. “I don’t wanna.”

 

There was a pause.

 

“Oh. Cool beans. Radical. Thanks, pal. You’re a pal, I ever tell you that?” Bucky heard the phone disconnect, watching Clint drop it face-down on his chest. “My pal’s coming to take me to his super high-tech personal hospital,” Clint informed Bucky.

 

Bucky blinked, because _what?_ But he didn’t ask. “How did you fuck up your body?” he asked instead.

 

Clint blinked slowly a few times. “I think the Russian gang that our landlord’s a part of tried to kill me. I’m a little bit fuzzy on the details. There was poker, I think.” Clint frowned. “That reminds me. I’ve gotta call Katie-Kate.”

 

Bucky held out his hand for Clint’s phone. “I’ll talk to her. You’re barely awake.”

 

“Can’t argue with that,” Clint said and dropped the phone into Bucky’s hand. “Her contact is Katie-Kate.”

 

Bucky clicked on the Jarvis button, knowing he would not be able to manually call this Kate person. “Call Katie-Kate.”

 

The line connected, and a woman immediately exploded into, “Where the fuck have you been, Clinton Francis Barton? I’ve been-“

 

“Relax,” Bucky said.

 

There was a pause. “You’re not Clint.”

 

“No. I’m just a guy who lives in his building. I want you to know that he’s alive, but he also completely fucked up his body, so he’s busy getting bloodstains on my couch. Some guy is gonna take him to some fancy hospital or something. I don’t fucking know.”

 

“That’s just typical,” Kate huffed. “Tyyyypical. Tell him I’ll meet him at the fancy hospital.”

 

“You know where it is?”

 

“Not my first rodeo, hotshot,” Kate said and hung up.

 

“She’s gonna meet you at your shady hospital.”

 

“Oh, good,” Clint said, closing his eyes. “Can you take my hearing aids out? They’re making weird noises and I can’t move.”

 

Bucky sighed but did as he was asked. Clint clumsily signed something at him, and Bucky frowned, shaking his head. “Loser,” Clint said. “I can lip-read, you know.”

 

“I’ve actually wanted to learn ASL for a while.”

 

Clint nodded. “You should. It’s a super fun time.”

 

Bucky frowned to himself, then scrolled through the contacts on his own StarkPhone until he found the number of the linguist specialist at the university.

 

BUCKY: You think I’d be able to attend some ASL classes?

 

TRIPP: I’ll text you the details. Next semester coming up soon, so you shouldn’t have to wait long.

 

Bucky smiled to himself. He didn’t really know how he was going to learn sign language when he only had one hand, but he’d manage.

 

Clint dozed, and about an hour later, a big guy buzzed Bucky’s apartment. “I’m Happy, here for Clint Barton.”

 

Bucky half-turned. Clint was sleepily watching Parks and Rec. “Dude, you know a guy named Happy?”

 

“Yup. He’s okay,” Clint said, although his mouth twitched into a frown.

 

Bucky buzzed the guy up.

 

Happy basically carried Clint down to a shady-looking car, but not before assuring Bucky that he’d be okay.

 

Bucky didn’t know why Happy did that. It wasn’t like Bucky cared about the guy other than the fact that he’d wrecked his couch.

 

He called his mom.

 

“Hey, ma.”

 

“Jamie. There’s this really cute florist that I want to ask on a date.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “So do it. I’m not the dating police.”

 

“What do I say to him? You know what I’ll do? I’ll buy a nice bouquet of flowers and then give it to him.”

 

Bucky smiled. “That’s real cheesy, ma.”

 

“He’ll like it. He’s a sweetheart. Anyhow, what’s up?”

 

“How do I get blood stains off a couch?”

 

There was a long pause. “Are you okay?”

 

Bucky froze. “Oh. Shit- er- crap. I didn’t mean it like that. A neighbor of mine got hurt and I put him on my couch.”

 

Winifred sighed. “I’ll be over as soon as I get this man’s number.”

 

“You’re a Casanova, ma.”

 

Sure enough, Winifred showed up a few hours later to help remove the blood. She recounted the story of getting the florist’s number with an adorable sense of excitement. “We’re going to see a movie this weekend,” she gushed as she gathered her things to leave, several hours later.

 

“Tell me how it goes,” Bucky said, then frowned. “Although not in too much detail.”

 

Winifred laughed and whacked him on his one remaining bicep. “Jamie!”

 

Bucky cracked a smile. “See ya later, ma.”

 

“Bye, sweetie. I hope your neighbor is okay.”

 

Bucky felt a twinge of worry for Clint and shoved it away.

 

He barely knew the guy anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

A week later, there was a knock at the door.

 

When Bucky opened it, Clint smiled tiredly. He was propped up with a pair of crutches, but he looked marginally better than how Bucky had last seen him. “I left my hearing aids here.”

 

“Want to watch a documentary with me?” Bucky blurted out.

 

Clint blinked. Bucky blinked. They stared at each other.

 

Bucky swallowed roughly. “I- uh- it’s about space.”

 

“Sweet,” Clint said. “I always love emphasizing the feeling of my own insignificant mortality.”

 

Bucky hid a grin as he let Clint inside.

 

“Sorry about your couch.”

 

“It’s okay. My ma helped me get the worst of it.”

 

“Nice.”

 

“How’s your...” Bucky gestured to Clint’s entire body.

 

Clint snorted. “Me? Aw, Bucky, I could run a marathon at the drop of a hat.”

 

Bucky laughed and helped Clint settle on the couch, even though Clint shot him a glare for it. “Who’d you leave Lucky with?”

 

“Katie-Kate,” Clint said. “I’m going to stop leaving him with her once she goes to college. I’ll have to find someone else.”

 

“I’ll do it,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I fuckin’ love dogs.”

 

Clint elevated his leg on the coffee table with a wince. “Nuh-uh, broski. I gotta get to know you a little better before I hand over dog-sitting privileges.”

 

Bucky ignored the burst of happiness at the words. Clint wanted to get to know him better? Now _that_ was a feeling. Mostly, people just ignored him nowadays. Even his students tried to stop by his office less often.

 

Bucky pushed that train of thought away and turned on the documentary.

 

Clint fell asleep on his couch. Bucky put a blanket over him, made sure his leg was properly elevated, and placed his hearing aids on the coffee table.

 

When Bucky woke up the next morning, Clint was gone. But the refrigerator had suspiciously been stocked with extra cartons of milk and eggs.

 

* * *

 

 

“So,” Clint said, and Bucky jolted, his head snapping upwards to find Clint half-out of the air vent in the lobby. “I think I’m the landlord now.” He sounded extremely confused.

 

Bucky frowned. “Do I want to know?”

 

“Probably not.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes and shifted his grip on his backpack so that he could pull out his keys in advance. “Bring Lucky down to my apartment and we can all watch TV or something.”

 

“’Kay.”

 

Ten minutes later, Lucky was stretched out on the floor as Bucky flipped through channels, Clint sulking in silence next to him. Bucky paused on a news channel. “Huh. Looks like the Avengers are fighting something in Brazil.”

 

Clint straightened a little bit in interest. “What?”

 

Bucky put down the remote. They watched as Iron Man and Thor attacked some monster thing from the sky, Captain America and Black Widow working from the ground level, the Hulk roaring in the distance. “Hawkeye is probably somewhere out of sight. He’s sort of a sniper, you know?” Bucky said.

 

Clint looked at Bucky, intrigued. “How d’you know?”

 

Bucky shrugged. “I teach a class on strategic geniuses, and one of the units is on Captain America. I’ve had to analyze the Battle of New York a few times. Hawkeye is definitely their sniper, except he uses a bow instead of a rifle for some dumbass reason.”

 

Clint laughed, looking happier and looser than he’d been all evening.

 

“Who do you think the hottest Avenger is?” Bucky asked idly.

 

Clint’s giggles came harder. “ _What_?”

 

“Personally,” Bucky went on, smiling to himself, happy that Clint was laughing, “I’ve never been able to choose. I mean, obviously, Thor has the best arms. Captain America has the best ass. Iron Man has the best hair. Black Widow has the best overall whatever-“ Clint choked on his own laughter, “-Hulk has the best muscles. And Hawkeye.” Bucky paused. “Has the second best arms.”

 

Clint collapsed into wheezing laughter. “Oh shit,” he gasped, “I can’t breathe. Oh my god.”

 

Bucky didn’t really now why it was that funny, but he cracked a smile anyway. He turned back to the TV as Captain America threw himself down the throat of the monster. Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I can’t discount the guy as one of the best strategists in history, but he has no sense of self-preservation.”

 

“You can say that again,” Clint wheezed, holding his stomach. “I hope he doesn’t die.”

 

“Yeah, that’d be a real bummer.”

 

They watched the battle because for some reason, neither of them would move to change the channel. Captain America somehow survived throwing himself down a monster’s throat, but only when the Black Widow split open its stomach.

 

“That’s my girl,” Clint muttered under his breath, a fond smile curling his lips. Bucky frowned, suddenly very curious.

 

He opened his mouth to ask.

 

But.

 

As the monster went down, and Captain America emerged from its guts covered in otherworldly entrails and blood, the Black Widow went down.

 

Captain America caught her before she hit the ground, and he shouted so loudly for Iron Man to get down there that they could hear it on the TV.

 

Clint’s breathing had gotten harsh. “Ah, fuck.”

 

“ _Reports suggest that the Black Widow was nearly single-handedly responsible for bringing the monster down but was injured in the process. Confirmation awaits_.”

 

Clint scrambled to his feet and fumbled for his phone, his eyes wide and fearful. “Call Nat,” he said in a shaking voice as he pressed the Jarvis button. He pressed the phone to his ear, letting his eyes slide shut.

 

Bucky heard the line go to voicemail.

 

Clint cursed. “Call Captain Sassy.” Voicemail. “Call Iron Maiden.” Voicemail. “Call- call Thunder-tits.” Voicemail. Clint sat shakily on the coffee table. “Call-“ he said. “Call-“

 

Bucky put a hand on Clint’s wrist. “Hey. Hey. You need to calm down.”

 

Clint shoved Bucky away. “She’s _hurt_ ,” he snapped.

 

Bucky swallowed, dread settling in the pit of his stomach. “If they answer your calls, they’ll be distracting themselves from helping her.”

 

“I should be there!” Clint shouted hoarsely, then scrubbed a hand across his stubbly jawline. “Fuck. I should be there,” he said quietly.

 

“You’re hurt too, Clint,” Bucky said, trying to keep his voice even, trying to pretend his mind wasn’t racing for other plausible theories that did not involve Clint being an Avenger. “You would’ve done more damage than help.”

 

Clint laughed bitterly. “That’s what I am, right? A squishy human and a fucking liability, huh?”

 

Bucky felt a wave of sadness. “I never said that.”

 

“Everyone says that. Everyone thinks that. I-“ Clint faltered, and his eyes widened. “Fuck, you didn’t think that until now, did you? I’m so fucking stupid.”

 

“Clint-“

 

“I thought I was being all cool not mentioning the Avenger thing because, hey, at least you didn’t think I was the most inadequate part of a team of super heroes. And now you know. And I couldn’t even help Nat.”

 

“ _Clinton Francis Barton_ ,” Bucky snapped. “You aren’t helping anyone right now.”

 

Clint barked out a horrible laugh. “I never help anybody,” he said darkly.

 

“You know that isn’t true.”

 

Clint curled into himself, and Lucky whined, nudging at Clint’s leg. “I need to get to Stark Tower.”

 

“I’ll go call a cab. I’m coming with you.”

 

“No,” Clint said, his voice sharper than Bucky had ever heard it. His eyes had gone distant. “Stay here and watch Lucky.”

 

“Clint,” Bucky said, frustrated.

 

Clint heaved himself off the couch. “This isn’t your world, Barnes. Super heroes and civilians don’t mix,” he snapped.

 

Bucky fell silent, hurt, as Clint stormed out of the apartment.

 

That night, Bucky didn’t sleep. He stared out the window, hating himself for wishing that Clint Barton and Hawkeye weren’t the same person.

 

Maybe that was what Clint meant. It had been better when Bucky only knew him as Clint, his neighbor. Now, Bucky knew him as Hawkeye, the Avenger.

 

And super heroes and civilians didn’t mix.

 

* * *

 

 

“You look like shit today, Professor Barnes,” America Chavez said as she strolled into the mostly-empty morning class. “Long night?” she asked cheekily.

 

Bucky rubbed his temples. “Miss America Chavez. Go take a seat.”

 

America smirked knowingly, even though she was completely unaware that Bucky had only pulled an all-nighter because he’d been hoping Clint would contact him.

 

He didn’t.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So,” a voice said as Bucky walked into his office several weeks later with no contact from Clint other than Bucky coming home to a Lucky-less apartment, “You’re the professor.”

 

Bucky tried not to shrink in fear as he turned on the lights. A small redhead sat in his swivel chair, looking pale and tired.

 

The Black Widow was in Bucky’s office.

 

Bucky shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant as he sorted out some papers. “And you’re the BFFL five-evah.”

 

The Black Widow cracked a small smile. “Clint likes you.”

 

“Clint barely knows me.”

 

“He left Lucky with you for over a week. He likes you.”

 

Bucky slammed a pen down onto a stack of papers with more force than necessary. “Well, he also seems to think that super heroes and civilians don’t mix.”

 

The Black Widow rolled her eyes. “Clint is a super hero and civilian.”

 

Bucky scowled.

 

The Black Widow’s face didn’t change as she heaved herself to her feet, although Bucky suspected she was in pain. “Clint is a stubborn, lonely, depressed shithead with more self-esteem issues than a self-loathing teenager. If you don’t go talk to him first, you will probably never talk to him again.”

 

“Is that a threat?”

 

“It’s me being honest. Clint wouldn’t shut up about ‘Bucky said this’ and ‘Bucky said that’ for a fucking month. He likes you. He thinks he isn’t good enough to be anyone’s friend. He’s wrong.”

 

“Oh?”

 

The Black Widow’s eyes went steely. “I would give my life a thousand times over if it would make Clint happy. If you can help me get him there without the bloodshed, I would appreciate it.”

 

“What if I don’t want to?” Bucky asked coldly.

 

The Black Widow lifted a shoulder, her face blank. “Then bloodshed will have to do for us.”

 

Bucky didn’t really know what that meant.

 

“Look, _professor_ ,” the Black Widow said, biting the word out like an insult. “The incident of a few weeks ago proves the fragility of life, especially in my line of work. If I die, I do not want Clint to shut himself away and cut off every happiness he has.” She frowned a little bit. “This is like a practice test. Help me pull him out of his self-hatred.”

 

“Maybe,” Bucky said, trying to sound noncommittal.

 

The Black Widow must’ve known that Bucky had been on her side from the beginning of the conversation. “I’ll see you tonight, Barnes.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky knocked on Clint’s door and leaned down to pick up the items he’d brought up here.

 

Clint opened the door, looking exhausted and withdrawn and incredibly scruffy.

 

Bucky shoved the milk and eggs into Clint’s hands.

 

Clint stared down at the items until the tiniest smile finally flickered across his face for an instant. He looked up. “You’d better come inside.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Bucky was lying on Clint’s couch, procrastinating on grading some essays in favor of watching _Mulan_.

 

“Why do you love Disney movies so much?”

 

“They tell the history of our nation,” Bucky said.

 

“I can never tell when you’re joking about history,” Clint sighed.

 

 _History is never a joke_ , Bucky signed as Clint came into view.

 

Clint scoffed, rolled his eyes, and signed something way too fast for Bucky to catch.

 

“No fair,” Bucky whined. “I’m a beginner.”

 

Clint, the asshole, signed something even more complicated.

 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this for you.”

 

“Professor Barnes is learning sign language for me,” Clint said in a falsetto, batting his eyelashes. “I take alllll of Professor Barnes’ classes and hope he’ll notice me one day and ravage my body-“

 

“Stooooop,” Bucky said, laughing.

 

“Professor Barnes and I are getting _married_!”

 

“Clint Barton, you’re a shithead,” Bucky sighed.

 

Clint sat on the couch, and Bucky put his feet in Clint’s lap. “But I’m _your_ shithead,” he said with faux-earnestness.

 

“Debatable,” Bucky joked.

 

Clint’s phone buzzed, and Clint frowned, removing it from his pocket and staring at the screen for a long moment. He looked up at Bucky consideringly.

 

“What?” Bucky asked.

 

Clint went back to the falsetto, “I was wondering whether to go with white or red roses for the wedding bouquet.”

 

“Clinton, behave.”

 

“Don’t call me Clinton,” he said reflexively, glancing back down at his phone. “Uh. Nat wants us to meet for coffee tomorrow. You in?” Clint smiled a vague, secret smile, and Bucky suspected that it probably wasn’t just going to be coffee.

 

Bucky shrugged. He’d already gotten himself thoroughly tangled in the mess that was Clint’s life. He’d been here when Kate had left for LA and taken Lucky with her. He’d been here when Clint’s brother disappeared after the Russian gang tried to storm the building. He’d been here every single time Clint had almost died and every single time Clint felt like the shittiest Avenger. He’d brought Clint cartons of milk and cartons of eggs countless times and knew Clint would buy him milk and eggs a thousand times over if it made Bucky happy. With this friendship, Bucky was already in way too deep.

 

What was just one meeting for coffee?

 

“Sure,” Bucky said, completely disregarding the flash of triumph in Clint’s eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thecommodoresquid)


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